


A Song Too Hard To Follow

by JustAPassingGlance



Category: Glee
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-10
Updated: 2013-03-10
Packaged: 2018-03-22 09:24:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 520
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3723673
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JustAPassingGlance/pseuds/JustAPassingGlance
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>And now there was nothing left between them. There wasn’t even a them. Just a him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Song Too Hard To Follow

It has been the longest day of his life and given everything that had happened in the last two weeks, that was saying something. He hadn’t slept the night prior or the one before that. Actually, he couldn’t remember the last time he had been able to sleep for more than fifteen minutes at a time.

So he had stood and sat with everyone else. At some point he was lead up front and he stared blankly at the sea of people before him until their son gently eased the paper from between his fingers and he half-listened as he read what was written on them, voice steady just like his father’s. Every sentence was both foreign and familiar, like a song you hadn’t heard since you were young.  
  
Then they were outside and suddenly he was painfully aware of the fact that he didn’t know what he was doing anymore.  
  
If he didn’t keep walking then nothing would change. Then this wouldn’t be happening. He could just turn around and go home and his husband would be waiting for him (maybe making lunch for them, or else napping on the couch) and all of this would just be a bad dream.  
  
He stopped mid-step. “I can’t.”  
  
“Daddy. You have to.” Another familiar voice, this time their daughters. A hand clutching at his elbow and guiding him forward. How was everyone so much stronger than him?  
  
It was bright and cold. Too cold. Every breath stung deep in his chest. Or maybe that had nothing to do with the temperature.  
  
More listening and he looked everywhere but there. Looked at all the faces, the trees, let his eyes chase after the few clouds in the sky. Not looking was also key.  
  
Until suddenly he couldn’t not look because some voice was telling him that this was his last chance. (And he wasn’t ready for it. Not at all. But he needed it, needed it more than he needed air. And until a month ago last wasn’t even a word he allowed in his vocabulary. Since then it had become alarmingly familiar.)  
  
But there was nothing to see, not really. A wooden box that could have been anybody’s but somehow was  _his_. But it wasn’t him. Not anymore.  
  
And he had missed it. The last last. And now there was nothing left between them. There wasn’t even a them. Just a him.  
  
He didn’t even know when the tears had started, just knew they couldn’t stop. His face buried in the back of someone’s jacket as two sets of arms held him up.  
  
And then it was over and a long line of people were offering him hugs and condolences and he didn’t hear a word of it, couldn’t hear anything over the ringing echo of solitude.

He was being ushered into the passenger’s seat of someone’s car and he could only weakly demand that to be brought home. He had heard the hushed whispers as they debated whose house he should be shuffled off to.

Ignoring the long suffering sigh he repeated himself. Home. He just wanted to be home. 


End file.
